THE DEVIL AND AUNTIE by Priscilla Cogan

The following story tells of a wonderful old woman who protected children from the devil. Each child in the story is given a special gift by "Auntie", and each gift provides not only a means of survival but also a way to victory over the devil. This story is meant to be read aloud.

Once upon a time, long, long ago in Middle Europe, there was a large forest. It was called the Black Forest, for the trees were so thick, so tall, that the sunlight oft would stop at the dense canopy of foliage and leave the mossy ground below dark and unilluminated. Being so dark and unilluminated, the Black Forest naturally became the place of myth and fantasy, of swirling images and half-forgotten dreams, of ill-begotten memories, of wish and wisdom, and of time lost amidst the shadows.

In this nethershadow world, there dwelled a group of people who made their living as woodcutters -- each owning a tiny part of the forest where they cut the trees in the ancient tradition of coppicing.

Like their grandfathers, and their grandfathers before them, the woodcutters would seek to clear a patch of woods by cutting down selected hardwood, making sure the tree stumps measured two inches off the ground, and in this cleared space could attract the sunlight, so that each stump could give birth each year to shoots of new trees emerging out of the original tree. In this way the woodcutters brought the sun into the clearing and watched the new offshoots grow from within the beginning tree. For life begets life, and always we are reaching for the sun's warmth whether in a straight manner or through offshoots. The sun nurtures us, as love nurtures us. Thus is the tree of life.

In this netherworld of deep, dense shadow and sparse, dappled clearings, or misty images and hollow sounds, there dwelled the families of the woodcutters, who grew used to the darkness and infrequent sun, who looked inside themselves for warmth to gladden the heart, who knew the silence of aloneness and the good company of the imagination too cover hurt and heal, in part, the lonely wound.

These were rough families, given to much suffering in pursuit of their labors. It was a hard, hard life in the Black Forest, and the man's and women's faces bore the marks and scars of roughness and learned hardness. In their hearts they knew of the Creator, Father of Sun, but the Devil of the cloven hoof was equally known as Master of the Darkness. Like all children in all ages, the children of the woodcutters trusted in the power of their parents' friends to protect them in their innocence from the wiles of the Devil of the cloven hoof, whose footprints could be seen, now and then on the mossy damp underground. It was said there, amongst the rough and tough woodcutters, the Devil had many friends.

Now the Devil of the cloven hoof likes to hurt people and hurt them real bad, so bad they will shun the sun and turn to His Darkness for solace, so bad they will hide from the light of truth, shamed into silence. Hurt can do that to you . . . or me. It can turn a person to hate his creation and wish for the gentle seduction of forgetting. Hurt can cut as deep as the woodcutter's axe to the center core, so that life must run through offshoots, a coppicing a coping, a way to keep curling up toward the diminishing sun.

Best of all, the Devil likes to prey upon the children whose faith and trust swell him up and make him High and Mighty in the lowly underworld.

And so the Devil of the cloven hoof decided one day to traipse through the Black Forest, stirring up trouble between parents and partners, brothers and sisters. He built himself a lowly hut and settled there a while. Years!

For it was the children he was after. A terrible spell he put them through -- causing parents to beat their children, throw trust and honor out the window, drink to drunkenness, feign serious illness, make men of little heart prey on children of good heart, misusing, abusing the innocent ones. And the forest grew darker with the Devil's dwelling.

The children wept and stormed and pleaded with their deaf parents to protect them from this darkness, and the Devil laughed at their hurt, as their innocence was brutally ripped away and the darkness grew and grew, the trees blotting out the sun, until no one could see what was being done to the children.

That is, except for one old woman called Auntie by the children. She watched the drunken debaucheries and the beatings of the children, how parents and friends abused the innocent trust of the little ones.

She knew it was the Devil's doing, and that there was little she could do, for she was old and at the end of her life. Yet her heart wept at their suffering and anger grew in her.

This old Auntie called the children of all ages to come to her humble home, deep in the woods, to give them each a gift, to hold them in this time of pain and the Devil's doing.

To the youngest child amongst the related group Auntie gave white, shimmering waterwings, saying, "These waterwings, My little one, will keep you bouyant, allow you to play and swim as a little girl in the stream of life and keep that trust that there are some good people out there who will not hurt you, who will rescue you in times of need, but like all gifts, this gift has a price; if you hold it too dear, you will never learn to swim under your own power; if you keep this gift too close, you will always have the fear the water of the forest streams and the water of the storm will drown you." Although she didn't understand the warning, the little girl was very appreciative of the gift of white waterwings, for now in all the darkness she had found a place to play.

To the next child, Auntie donated a translucent magnifying glass, saying, "My dear, your curiosity bubbles up inside and seeks to explore the world around you. Cherish that curiosity, but beware this, too; When you look so close, make sure you can handle what you feel, for this glass can magnify not just the world outside you, but also your feelings inside, until all you feel is a child's rage. Look closer still to the hurt inside where truth resides." Oh, the curious child was so happy with her new toy and set off exploring.

Next, before her stood a quiet, studious youngster to whom Auntie gave a gilded book, saying, "Take this book and enter a world of sunlight and order and reason's reign, where things make sense, unlike the current chaos here. But remember, too, the mind can choke off the chaotic feeling, and the tight collar can inhibit the voice. Do not forget to dance, my dear. Do not forget to sing." And very properly, the youngster thanked Auntie and went on her way.

The next young person strolled forcefully into Auntie's house, and Auntie smiled as she handed over the gift of a bejeweled sword, saying, "Keep this close to remind you of your anger. Use it to cut through to the heart of the matter. With this sword you will feel strong and have the fortitude to do what needs to be done. But," she cautioned, "Don't use it to cut off hope and run away. Honor your anger. Don't let the blade grow dull and benumbed by the evil brew and dark potions, lest you become like those who hurt you. Be strong. For this is the sword of justice." And the young person heard these words and held the sword proudly by her side.

The next person at her door looked wounded and tired and could not speak for all the pain welling up inside. Gently, Auntie reached out and handed her a silver pen, saying, "In your hand, my dear, this pen will script your dreams and hurts and inner song. With this pen give life to the image. In drawing, in the music of poetry, give birth to the artist who can fashion another world from this netherworld you're in. But don't let this pen rob your voice of the anger inside. For that anger inside, for that anger some day will give voice to you." So smiling, the young lady departed.

Next came a young woman of stately presence upon whom Auntie bestowed the gift of a black coat of armor, saying, "Nothing can hurt you now inside or outside. There is no more pain, as this coat of armor will protect you. But remember this when all feels dull and empty in a world of no pain but also no joy, take off that armor briefly to feel once again." And so this young person took the gift, the warning, and went her way.

Next came an even older young woman to whom Auntie gave the gift of a strong horse, saying, "Cherish this animal that is here but to serve a function, to watch over you and carry you where you dare not tread. It is a shy, retiring horse that will serve you well as long as it has meaning, for its value is in its service. There is wisdom in this horse, because it knows its place in this creation.

Finally came the last young person, the oldest of them all. Auntie took pity on her and gave her a dark blindfold and a large yellow ball of wax, explaining, "To you, my dear, I give the gift of forgetting. The blindfold will help you in the time of pain so as not to see the hurt; The wax you must put in your ears, so as not to hear the cry of suffering inside. In this way you will not witness in this hour as a child the loss of innocence. But be prepared, my dear, that over the years this gift will make you blind and deaf to your innermost self -- it's treasures and it's hidden pain. And there will come a time to take off the blindfold and unplug your ears, to remember that which you forgot, to redeem those parts of yourself that are offshoots from the time of darkness and old pain." And so she, too, gladly accepted her gift and went on her way.

The Devil of the cloven hoof was not at all pleased with how the old woman, "That Auntie," was interfering with his sport, and so he sent the Scourge of Old Age to close her eyes in everlasting peace. It is said that Auntie died with a smile on her lips, having outfoxed the Devil of his due.

For much to the Devil's surprise, the children did not come flocking to him, seeking the darkness; Rather they held strong to their gifts, which gave them protection in the time of great pain. So the Devil soon tired after several years and decided to move on, looking for less fortunate children who didn't have such special gifts.

You might think that his departure would have brought the people out in joy and celebration. But, as a tree that has been deeply axed by the woodcutter, and then surprisingly spared, wears forever the wounded flesh, so too the children felt their scars and held close to their material gifts, not yet knowing that the True gifts were the words of the old, kind Auntie.

A long, long time ago, in the land of the Black Forest and the time of the Devil's doing, the children learned about coping from the coppicing of the trees, how life can circumvent the deep cut to bring forth new life, offshoots, so that the tree of life can grow in many forms.

The End

THE PRINCESS OF THE DARK CLOAK by Pricilla Cogan

Once upon a time there lived a little girl with dark hair and a sweet smile and a wish that everybody would like her. This little girl was a princess who lived in a dark, dark castle -- not at all like the beautiful castles in the fairy tale books. She lived in the dark, sooty castle with her family -- the King, the Queen, brothers and sisters, and just lots of people and lots of noise. There were few places this little girl could find peace and quiet except in her books, her daydreams and her lively imagination. On rare occasions the sun would peak out through the clouds, over the castle walls, and bathe her in the golden light. And oh! This little girl would tuck that in her memory to make it last that much longer, the warming sun. For love was to her like the warming sun, to hold, to treasure, to keep alive even in the midst of the darkest day and the dampest night. Her mind worked overhard in thinking of ways to keep the sun shining, to make others love her and hardest of all, in the midst of the darkness, to find ways she could keep that sun close to her heart, so that she could love.
But the nights were cruel and the winter was overlong. The little girl found herself growing colder and colder, as the dampness soaked into her very being, as the wind whipped mercilessly about her bare legs. The King and Queen were so busy with their own world they didn't even notice that their little girls clothes were tattered and torn, and she was afraid to tell them, lest they get angry with her.

For this little girl was Very Afraid of their anger, for like all royalty, the a King and the Queen were very demanding and not the least bit sympathetic to their subjects, nor their children. For like many rulers, they were very imperial in their demands, commanding their people to do this, do that, act in this way, act in that way. Why they even demanded that everyone feel, think, and do just as they commanded. The little girl soon discovered that if she had a feeling, or a thought, all her own, the King would say, "Humbug, that's not right! What do you know?" and then proceeded to tell her what was right. The Queen would say, "You're just a little girl. Of course, you don't feel that way. Who ever heard of such a thing? Why, it's just your imagination!" This left the little girl very, very afraid because the world was not what it seemed to be, according to her feelings, her thoughts and her perceptions.

So she quickly learned that it wasn't safe to tell people what she saw, what she felt, what she knew to be true and keeping it all inside, the little girl discovered an even more bitter cold as she faced the outside world.

Despite the freeze and the bitter cold, she didn't die, she fought to survive.

She found a cloak of just the right size for her small shivering body. A cloak that was all black on the outside in which she could hide; a place of safety and warmth, and all red on the inside, a warm color, the color of the hot sun with which she surrounded herself. Wrapped in this cloak, the little girl knew she was safe.

The black cloak disguised her feelings well, so that the King and Queen didn't punish her as much or even notice her that much; The little girl kept secret the brilliant red, wrapping it tightly about her to keep her warm in the fires of the heart.

It Was also a cloak of many pockets, big pockets and small pockets, all contained within the inner red lining that nobody but our little princess knew about. And like all little girls, she would collect things and stash them in her pockets, until even she forgot about them.

When something made her sad, a harsh word, a look of contempt, she'd take the blue mood and stuff it into one of her pockets, so as to keep it hidden from everyone Out There. Or when she'd feel purplish with rage, wanting to strike out an hurt those who hurt her, she'd take that, too, and stuff it into an inner pocket.

Her pockets grew full with all their stuffings. When lonely, the little girl would create a playmate, that only she knew she had, to play with, to talk to, to laugh with, in secret and when with others, knowing better, the little girl stuck her playmate in a pocket for future use. She was quite clever because all on her own she held true to her feelings, her perceptions, only keeping them hidden form Out There.

Time passed, and the princess began slowly to blossom as all little girls do. In Spring she felt the first stirrings of life, of creation, of sensuality as the flowers opened up their buds from the long winter nap.

yet no one -- not the Queen, not the King, no one -- told her about all these new feelings stirring up inside her, and so that, too, she learned guard and pocket deep inside of herself. No one knew of the spring inside her, the wild rush of life. All they knew was the Princess of the Dark Cloak.

Pretty soon there were young men coming round the castle door, wanting to meet the Princess of the Dark Cloak. There were things she had to learn. And she became busy and busier the older she grew. So busy that all the stuffed pockets of this and that, old feelings, old playmates, old parts of herself were soon forgotten.

And like all princesses, eventually this one wed her prince and left the big, dark, noisy, gloomy castle to find a home of greater sunshine and more love than she thought possible.

Known as the Princess of the Dark Cloak, she kept it as her trademark, so that everyone would know who she was, even though it was awfully small for an adult and awfully lumpy with all those stuffed inner pockets and slowly fraying on the edge from so many years of wear and tear.

Until there came a day, a long time after leaving home, she walked by a mirror and perchance saw herself in the old cloak. For lately she had been finding it hard to move about, increasingly difficult to breathe, as if she were smothering or choking, all tight inside and constricted. She looked in the mirror to make sure that ropes didn't bind her arms, as everything began to press in on her and scare her.

In the mirror she saw how small was her cloak and how big she had grown, how the buttons in front could barely keep from popping, how her arms extended way beyond the sleeves and her knees appeared exposed. Most of all she saw how tight the cloak bound her so that she couldn't breathe right. It was heavy, so heavy that it exhausted her to wear it, but she had quite forgotten the pockets crammed with this and crammed with that.

Now being the Princess of the Dark Cloak, she had never never taken it off. For hadn't the cloak been the very thing to save her life in the time of the Bitter Cold? So, as she looked at her reflection, she didn't know what to do.

At first she just wished the pain, the tightness of breath would disappear, that somehow the cloak would magically enlarge and give her room to move about in but wishing is wishing, and wishing didn't remove the heaviness that had settled into her. Then she decided just to live with the pain, and for a very, very long time she struggled with the cloak's weight and increasing heaviness until all her joints hurt, and still the cloak bound her too tightly. For it was a child's cloak, and the Princess had become a woman.

Doctors from far and wide came and gave her drugs, to kill the pain, to give her sleep, but none looked beyond the Princess of the Dark Cloak to the real problem, underneath.

Finally an old woman appeared, for she saw the Princess was in pain and was scared and confused and feeling all alone. The Princess besought this old woman to help her, for the pain was growing worse and the heaviness unbearable.

The old woman of many wrinkles told her that deep inside the cloak were many pockets, all stuffed with bits and pieces from the princess' life. Blue fabric from the times of deep sadness, purple from the times of rage, old playmates from the time of childhood, protectors from the time of dark pain. Pockets and pockets, frozen in time, forgotten by her a long time ago. The old woman told her the heaviness came from carrying all this unattached weight, instead of wearing it.

The Princess studied this old woman carefully, wondering indeed if this woman was just a doddering old fool or if she really knew something about her that she had forgotten. Warily, cautiously, the Princess inquired, "How do I get rid of this tiredness, this unattached weight?" Then she studied the old woman, in uncertain disbelief.

It took a long time for the old woman to answer, a thoughtful time. She warned the Princess, "It will take a long time, to grow free of this forgetting. It will take a long time to forget to fear. It will take a long time to remember that before the Princess of the Dark Cloak there was the Princess, and that the cloak was just a mantle to cover her and keep out the bitter cold. The old woman chided her, "You look in the mirror, my Princess and see for yourself the Princess of the Dark Cloak. I look in the same mirror and see the Princess, you."

The Princess now was very confused; Not knowing the difference in the mirror's reflection.

Still the old woman spoke, "It will take a long time and you will need to learn to sew, and stitch, and seam, for inside of those forgotten pockets are all the bits and pieces of you, frozen in time, forgotten in time, just jammed down deep and covered up by your black cloak. Slowly, you must examine these pockets, pull out their contents, remember them, give them your respect, for they are parts of you, needing to be honored, needing to be updated. Those parts which are useful to this time, this place, you must take and sew into the fabric of your cloak, into the fabric of your being, so that the cloak becomes a rainbow of colors."

Still these words frightened, nay, terrified the princess because, at least, she KNEW the dark cloak well. Her parents, her husband, her friends all knew her well as the Princess of the Dark Cloak. The dark cloak had fitted well in the darkness of her childhood castle, but she was not one to wear her feelings on her sleeve.

The old woman sensed her terror and spoke of it, "Yes, my dear, it is frightening to think that one can't stitch the fabric, unless the cloak is off and before you. You still fear the cold, the bitter winds, you doubt today's sunshine and tomorrow's dawn. At times you seek the darkness of sleep before the darkness of anticipation. There is pain in remembering, but remember this too: The pockets contain sunshine as well as sadness, Joy and playfulness as well as rage, Moments of triumph as well as pain, old friends as well as enemies."

The Princess listened thoughtfully to these words, so full of questions and confusion, wanting to forget, wanting to remember, and mostly just feeling dread of old dank castles and dark times. "How do I begin? Where do I find a thread strong enough? What will the cloak look like when I'm finished with it? And where will I find the courage to do this?"

The old woman smiled and replied, "The little girl is our beginning, the little girl before the dark cloak with all the pockets, before all the forgetting, the little girl who lives in the dark castle. We will pick her up and hold her close. We will protect her and bring her into the sunshine of today; You and I will love this little girl, this little girl who is you. She is our beginning, but the thread we will use will be that of an adult who has grown strong over the years and stands on her own two feet, under no one's dominion but her own. The courage of one who has survived. We must honor that courage, you and I."

The old woman continued, "The new cloak will be a long time in the making, full of new and startling colors, no longer just a solid steady black. It will be a cloak big enough to wrap all the way around you and still give you room to grow in, to breathe freely, to love in and be loved. It will be a cloak without gaps and hidden pockets, but one that honors you and what you have experienced. It will be not just a cloak of history, but a cloak of today and for your future."

The Princess knew down deep that when she was very, very young she had found a way to capture a piece of sunlight and put it close to her heart, to warm her and keep her safe in the darkness. Now the darkness felt as if it were gaining on her except for the words of the old woman who promised her the sun, with all its glare, but all its warmth, if she set forth on the task before her.

The End

After the story, it says, you little ones who have just heard this story may feel that you, too, live in a tight coat with lots of pockets and hidden places. It may feel warm and less frightening inside the coat where it is dark, but it is also tight and hard to breathe in there. Sunshine is wonderful. Feeling safe may take a while, but you learn that your days of pain and abuse are over. Like the Princess of the Dark Cloak,your body has grown too big for your old coat and you, like the Princess, will come out the live in the light.

"Love is not blind-It sees more and not less, but because it sees more, it is willing to see less." -- Will Moss

Strength and Courage

It takes strength to be firm. It takes courage to be gentle.

It takes strength to stand guard. It takes courage to let down your guard.

It takes strength to conquer It takes courage to surrender.

It takes strength to be certain. It takes courage to have doubt.

It takes strength to fit in. It takes courage to stand out.

It takes strength to feel a friend's pain. It takes courage to feel your own pain.

It takes strength to hide feelings. It takes courage to show them.

It takes strength to endure abuse. It takes courage to stop it.

It takes strength to stand alone. It takes courage to lean on another.

It takes strength to love. It takes courage to be loved.

It takes strength to survive. It takes courage to live.

--- Author Unknown